Islanded in a Stream of Stars
by Mirrored In My Mind
Summary: -WIP- -OMC- Oh, fun. Seeing as I've gone universe-and-body-hopping and wound up a mutant - again - how the heck am I supposed to deal with this? Ah, well. At least I don't have to go through high school again.
1. Prologue: Everything is Wrong, Again

Despite everything that has happened to me since I turned sixteen, I can safely say this is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.

I scrunched down farther in the squishy seat I currently occupied. I had my writing arm propped up on the half-desk surface, my long legs out in the aisle. (People were shooting dirty looks at me as they walked past. I am sometimes grateful to be left-handed.) My right arm was tucked into my side. I don't even know how to begin going about using it like a normal person.

If I thought too hard about - well, anything - I would more than likely break down into a blubbering mess of fear, panic, and grief. So like any mentally unstable person, I decided to ignore everything and push forward.

That somehow included going to class.

Class, as in college.

Perhaps just a summary of my morning would be better.

Wake up after an indeterminate amount of time unconscious into a body that is very, very much not mine. Freak out and injure myself. (Breaking my previous record by about three days, nonetheless.) Freak out the roommate I didn't know I had, almost punch his lights out, flee back to 'my' room. Shuffle into some clothes, have another panic attack about the limb currently giving me so much trouble. Proceed to stalk roommate person to the local college campus and into a lecture room for lack of a better plan.

So, here I am.

Luckily it's not a test day. Also luckily they don't take attendance or check IDs. Hooray for the general lack of caring, I suppose.

I ran a hand through my hair, brushing over my ears again, feeling smooth, rounded shells under my fingertips. I shuddered. The girl sitting next to me cast an askew glance from behind her fringe and not-so-subtly leaned in the opposite direction.

Of course, that could be due to the swollen, black and blue goose egg I have on my temple. At least the bleeding stopped, right?

A light hum caught my attention. I swiveled in my spot, adrenaline shooting through me. Battle instincts reared their ugly heads. I reached for my winds, and felt emptiness instead, which was painful in its own sort of way. A huff of breath was the only thing I allowed myself after feeling the void inside of me, because breaking down in public like this would serve no purpose other than to get me noticed by all the wrong sorts of people.

Another shudder. My chest ached, although this body had no scar where the disk had been inserted, no black veins that wouldn't fade from months of poison being pumped into my blood. It was relatively smooth and unblemished. Skinny.

Just like it was supposed to be, had my life been different.

Movement on the stage. The source of the noise that had seized my attention in the first place. When my eyes deigned to focus, I couldn't help but bite back a gasp. "Jean...?" I murmured.

It had to be her. But she looked nothing like the Jean I knew. The Jean I grew up with. The Jean that sang with her hairbrush in front of the mirror when nobody was watching, who loved to sit and read in the shade of a particular tree out in the backyard, who was hopelessly in denial about being in love even though she sighed quietly every so often when he was around.

This Jean was... older. Her face was lined, more from frowning than laughing, and there seemed to be a permanent crease between her eyebrows, like life was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out. The humming was coming from a laptop, which she deftly connected to a podium off to the side. The projector screen began to unfold as she stared at it warily.

The lights dimmed. A mike crackled as some of her maroon hair brushed it. She tossed it impatiently out of her face, turning to face the crowd.

"Good morning, everyone." A quiet response. My voice seemed to have fled. I was awkwardly half-leaning forward in my chair, straining for a taste of something, anything familiar, but rationality was holding me back.

"I am here to discuss mutants. No surprise, I imagine." There were a few snickers. I was only confused. Was she some kind of advocate for mutants? Did she teach here? Why was she older?

How long was I gone?

"I will be giving you the same speech I will later be presenting to Congress in order to sway opinions on the Mutant Registration Act that will go into vote. My hope is that you will approach me afterwards with feedback. I feel very strongly about this issue, and by the time class is over, perhaps you will too."

She pressed a button on her laptop. A slideshow popped up on the big screen; the first slide showed a very grainy picture of what appeared to be a girl. One of her hands was splayed on the side of a dark blue vehicle; the other appeared to be elbow-deep in crinkled metal.

The rest of the hour continued in much of the same vein. She made a very strong case against registering mutants, likening back to Nazi Germany and comparing mutants to Jews and other downtrodden folks of that particular historic chapter. There were other things, too, but my attention span has never been up to snuff, and I was too busy trying not to have a complete mental breakdown.

Jean thanked us for our time. Most of the occupants in the lecture hall applauded, while others silently stood and left, probably fuming. I did neither.

I was frozen. I was almost certain that if I moved, I would break into a million shards of person and I would never be able to put them back together again.

The hall emptied quickly after that.

My eyes slid closed. Images danced behind my lids, of happy times when I never had a care in the world other than school and making sure no one knew my dirty little secret. What I wouldn't give for those times back, I thought to myself. What I wouldn't give to be back where I belonged, not in this awkward place with this unfamiliar body and broken mind.

A light touch broke me from my thoughts. Despite the fact that this body was not battle trained, my mind reacted quickly. I rolled over the row of seats in front of me, left hand cupping - nothing, nothing, nothing - right arm dead to the world, teeth bared. I scrambled to my knees, in full threat assessment mode, only to discover that no, someone was not out to take my life (for once).

Jean was looking at me. Looking through me. Same difference, at this point.

"Interesting reaction for a college kid," she said pointedly. She gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

For about .2 seconds I thought about lying. And then I promptly remembered how difficult it is to lie to a telepath.

My shoulders slumped. I clenched my hand into a fist, feeling the fingers of my right hand twitch, and tamped down the panic that stupid little action brought. Though I was shooting for uncaring and nonchalant, I stood and stiffly walked over to where she was waiting. Someone at a boarding school would have looked at my posture and said, Not bad, seeing as how they aim to replace your spine with an iron rod.

I held the door open for her as we exited into the bright sunshine. Speaking of, I don't even know what month it is. Or day. Or anything, really.

"Today's Wednesday. We're in the middle of September. I'll get you a calender soon." Jean's voice made me jump. I could feel my neck and ears heating almost as soon as I did it.

"Ah, thanks." I paused. "How much do you know?"

"Not a whole lot. You're projecting quite a bit, though. We'll need to work on that." She scuffed her shoe on the sidewalk, kicking a leaf from the path. Kids were milling all over the place. Passing time, I suppose. "How-" She stopped, shaking her head. Her hair shimmered, I swear it did. Stupid red hair. Stupid body hopping consciousness. Stupid life.

"Yeah?"

I tried to focus on the scenery while she phrased the question in her head. Trees lining the street. Bad parking jobs, too, incidentally. Friendly little mom 'n pop shops with badly painted windows, and enough passerby activity to send my tactical planning senses into spiraling insanity.

Jean pulled up short to a black, nondescript vehicle. I overshot a little and was forced to backtrack, coming up to a stop next to the parking meter.

"You seem to know me," she said finally. "And yet, I don't recall having met. But you were thinking so loudly, louder than any other student there, and you knew who I was." She lifted one eyebrow. "Not only that, but you know where I'm taking you, and who I want to you see. Care to explain?"

Breathe, I instructed myself. Don't panic. Just don't panic.

"I know who you are because I grew up with you." Breathe. Air into lungs, and out again. "You and several other people. We all had something in common. And a lot of things have happened since then, suffice to say. I don't know why I'm here; all I know is that everything is different and this is absolutely the last thing I needed right about now."

What I did need was some kind of recreational substance that would allow me to forget the last several years had ever taken place. That would have been a mercy.

And thus, the universe was far too kind to provide it for me.

Her eyebrows climbed almost to her hairline. I could feel the suspicion rolling off of her; I could see the hesitance in her eyes. I wanted to curl in a ball and cry, or beg for her to take me back home so I could crawl in bed and sleep for a year. Sleep until I could scrub the horrors from behind my eyelids, sleep until I didn't have any more nightmares.

She flinched, one hand rising to rub at her forehead. "You hurt so much," she whispered gently, stepping closer, ignoring my flinch as she lifted one hand and placed it comfortingly on my shoulder. "Please, just come with me. He can help you."

"I know." I grabbed her wrist lightning fast, practically throwing it off of me, before yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind me. I pulled my knees into my chest, pressing my face into denim to get rid of the familiar-yet-not face taunting me. I dimly heard the other door close, and then felt the rumble of the engine as the vibrations seeped into my trembling frame.

She didn't try to touch me again. For that, I was thankful. I may not have my powers, but that didn't mean I couldn't throw a punch. Soft music filled the otherwise awkward silence as we accelerated, pulling out of the burbs and onto a backroad.

Time slipped past, trickling through my fingers, much as it had the day I lost my sanity. I stifled a shrill giggle. How would that look on Jean's record, I thought, going off to guest lecture and coming back with a crazy little human mental patient?

I almost missed it, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts. Almost missed the three right turns and the weird little branch.

But when I did see it, a relief so profound it bordered on holy filled me. Every muscle I had been holding tense, every tendon that had been wound tight as a spring, loosened. The iron bands around my lungs faded, and I took a deep breath, fighting back tears.

Home. The place I could truly call home without guilt, without bad memories, without expectations or anything else.

Jean must have tuned in to my head's radio station. (Or I was projecting again.) Either way, she let out a little breath, like she'd been so worried about something and now knew it would be alright. She turned to me, eyes bright, face relaxed and unlined.

"We're here, Loki. We're home."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello once again, peeps! Did you miss me?

And so begins the journeys of Loki anew. For my new readers, this is a sequel to another X-Men fic titled Winds of Change. I will provide a quick summary, so everyone will start off on the same page.

Loki was sixteen when he found out he was a mutant. His father kicked him out and he sought refuge with Xavier and crew. Many zany adventures ensued. Two important events happened at the end, however. (Everything else is fluff, for the most part.) One: Loki is kidnapped, tortured, and conditioned to use his powers against his will. He was put into a sleep-like state for three months, during which he killed several people under the orders of Bolivar Trask. As such, he has issues. Two: during the events of the t.v. series finale (X-Men vs. Apocalypse) Loki is forced into and trapped in Apocalypse's time/space travel unit. It then disappeared, leaving his teammates to believe he was dead. The epilogue of Winds of Change explains his sudden re-awakening in the movie-verse, complete with a shiny new human body to make up for his old, broken one. Hence more issues.

I love my character, but you may not. If that's the case, just be on your way. However, if you'd like to leave a review, that'd be stellar. Bonus points to whoever gets the story title reference! Peace out until next time, guys!


	2. Not so Different After All

My list of things I want to avoid if at all possible is pretty simple. Don't lose a limb. Avoid Jean's cooking if at all possible. Try not to freak everyone out. Lately, I've added no more waking up in a stupid, puny, fragile human body.

However, I am now forced to say that the top item of that list is no more awkward meetings with people who have no idea who you are but who you remember very, very well.

Jean understood, sort of. (She explained that, beyond what I was screaming from my thoughts, I was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. I wondered when my head became a one-way transit unit. Jean snickered behind her hand, making me blush. Again.)

Miss Ororo did not. Nor did Scott. In fact, the scrawny, uptight teenager I remembered had nothing in common with the absolute tightwad I was now facing interrogation under except for the glasses and the stick that was permanently wedged up his ass.

I appreciated Jean's quick effort to try and fill them in, but Miss Ororo simply gave me an unreadable stare before gliding out of the room. My throat ached, and my heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute. It felt like someone had replaced my insides with hungry snakes, and thrown a juicy rat down for good measure.

"So. How, exactly, did Jean pick you up again?" Scott asked, his voice cold. I swallowed thickly. A loose thread from the hem of my shirt held my attention, especially since I couldn't stand looking into those red lenses and sensing no camaraderie as I had so long ago. A tap on the desk jerked me from my thoughts and I half-raised my hand, expecting winds to be cupped in my waiting palm but getting nothing.

Replace snakes with rabid weasels.

"I waited after class for her," I said truthfully. As I had, the past three times he'd asked. "We chatted a bit. She thought it was a good idea to bring me here to see someone." I could feign polite disinterest with the best of them. "You're a bit more of a dick than I expected," I added as an afterthought.

Scott's brows pinched together. He opened his mouth to give me a lecture - it was kind of his thing back where I came from, who am I to expect anything less here? - when Jean stepped through the door, one hand on the wooden paneling of the wall.

"We don't tolerate that kind of language or backtalk, Loki," she said firmly, moving to sling an arm around Scott. The casual affection made me want to simultaneously cheer and barf. Because how long had I (and others) tried to convince them both that they were stupidly in love with each other and just needed to go make out somewhere? And now this.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I slouched down further in my seat, ignoring the cramp that was growing in the palm of my right hand.

Scott turned to face Jean, mouth set. "He's not a mutant," he said finally. "Not as far as I can tell."

Ouch. Did that ever sting.

"You don't look much like one yourself," I shot back. "Just like an asshole with shitty sunglasses."

"Loki knows us," Jean interrupted, adding mental pressure to her glare, making me wince. "He grew up with us. Or, rather, different versions of us."

Scott scoffed. "Please don't get started on that whole alternate universe thing," he groaned, splaying one hand on the dark wood of the desk and bringing the other up to rub the bridge of his nose. Had they had this conversation before? I was baffled.

"How do you explain it, then?" Jean snapped. "You should have seen the images he was broadcasting. He knew my face! He lived here! What other evidence do you need, Scott? He may not be a mutant, but this is his home!" She slammed her hand down in front of him, making me jump and almost topple out of my chair.

"Jean."

My head swung around, locating the source of the new voice almost instantly.

"This is the young man you wanted me to see?" the calm, low voice continued. My heart lurched. My knuckles popped loudly, and only then did I realize I had the seat back in a fearsome grip. I let go, flexing my fingers, biting my lip. Images flashed through my mind's eye. Could he see them? All the times we sat and talked? When he pulled me out of school for private tutoring? When he comforted me after losing my arm?

Xavier gave me a once-over, touching his temple for a brief second before scooting over to the adult side of the desk.

When did this become a principal's meeting? I wondered sourly. Didn't help I had trigger-finger reflexes, and people here just thing it's the bee's frickin' knees to pop out of nowhere.

"Loki," Xavier said gently. "Please. Jean is rarely up in arms over new arrivals as she has been with you. Will you explain your circumstances for us?"

I paused only long enough to give Scott the mental finger before launching into a quick, concise explanation of how my life was screwed over.

I'll spare you the boring details. Suffice to say, when my fifteen minutes of fame were over, I was emotionally wiped, Scott was staring at me like I had grown a second head, Jean was giving me a Mom Look, and Xavier was pondering the grain in his desk, hands clasped in his lap.

My stomach roiled. I wondered if I was going to puke. It would be just my luck, wouldn't it?

"How are you adjusting to this?" Xavier asked abruptly. "It must be very difficult for you right now."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Math is difficult. Dealing with bigots is difficult. This? This is like the place Satan dismissed for being too harsh.

My crazy hilarity halted mid-snort as my stomach decided to rebel. Guess the nervousness finally got to me. I clapped my hand over my mouth, frantically making 'help me!' eyeballs towards the trash can. As much as they looked at me like I was insane for not using my perfectly nice and new arm, Jean finally had mercy on me and grabbed it.

I promptly expelled the contents of my gut into that unfortunate plastic bag. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The shouting started about .01 seconds after that.

Jean pulled me into the air, running out of the office with me bobbing behind her. I cracked one eye open, wiping my mouth, hardly daring to hope at what I would see.

Blood.

Well geez, no wonder they panicked.

"Jean," I rasped. We were in an elevator now. Darn me for closing my eyes! I missed the impromptu tour.

"Hush, Loki, it's gonna be just fine. I've got some training in this, and we have a fully stocked medical bay in the basement." She pressed two buttons together and we dropped at an alarming rate, the whir of the elevator engine making my teeth rattle in my head.

"No, Jean, it's-"

Stupid bloody fast elevators. Stupid all-knowing telekinetics. The nausea decided, at that moment, that a demon drop like that was a perfect excuse to show right back up again, and I made a strangled-sounding noise as Jean briskly tugged me along through the now-open doors.

White halls blurred past. It was so clean, and so shiny. I would seriously hate to-

Urk. Nevermind.

"Sorry," I croaked. "I'll clean it up, I swear." Just no more dropping down at sixty miles an hour, please, for the love of that god I don't believe in.

"I'm a little more concerned why you're throwing up blood in the first place," Jean said. She wasn't smiling. Well, neither was I, but at least I knew about this part, right?

"It's my mutation," I said through gritted teeth. "It's gonna happen. Just gotta tough it out."

Oh hell. Is this what I get for winding up in a human body? This will be the third time I've done this. Are you kidding me. This is always the worst part, always always always.

She practically yanked the med bay doors open, grabbing the nearest IV pole and setting me down on a bed as she busied herself with collecting the various instruments of her trade. I immediately made a break for it, because if there's one thing I've done too much of in my old life, it was spending time in the damn med bay.

I made it half-way before she noticed me and locked my legs in place. Cursing, I made face/floor contact.

"Stay in bed," she warned. "I have restraints for a reason."

Seeing as there was a bucket by the bed, I decided for a tactical retreat, half-walking, half-sprinting back for the dreaded bed. I pulled the metal bucket up into my lap, busying myself for a few more seconds as more of my body's blood supply was violently rejected.

"Your mutation, huh?" Jean said over my left shoulder. My heaving did not stop, despite the panic she briefly induced. "Well, I guess it's a reasonable time for it to happen. Ending up here after everything must be very stressful."

Ah, yes, the good ol' stress-induced mutantisms. I hate my life sometimes.

I grumbled into the bucket, but didn't disagree. Much as I wanted my powers back - for ease of mind, I'll have you know - I could do without this part. Or any other part.

If I could just be done puking and get my winds back, we should call it good and be done. Nothing else. Please, please, please, I silently chanted. Don't make me a freak here, too, please.

"Hold still." A prick on my hand. Ah, of course, the IV. I wanted to warn her that wasn't going to last long at all, but again, the rabid weasels got into a particularly thrilling fit of inside-mauling, and I was summarily distracted.

Jean puttered around for another half-hour or so, but when she realized that hovering wasn't making me any less ill, she backed out, pointing out the emergency call button if I really needed her. I waved weakly, still crouched over my blasted bucket. (At least it was swapped with a clean one, and the other taken to presumably be burned.)

Once my stomach had settled well enough, I chose to lie down, exhausted.

This wasn't how I planned things to go. I had imagined a graceful introduction, and an offer to stay, and maybe further discussions on how to get me back where I belong. Instead, I'm in the med bay.

So typical.

I huffed irritably. I should be up, I should be training, I should be trying to find a way back to my Jean and my Scott and my Xavier. I shouldn't-

My tongue poked out between chapped lips. I shouldn't be wondering if I can make this place my home, if...

...well. If the worst turns out to be true, and I'm stuck here. Which, since Xavier doesn't seem to be hiding a universe-hopping pod in the linen closet, seems like a very likely thing.

I fisted my good hand in the thin sheets covering the hospital bed. I could have done it with my off hand, but I didn't. Why not? I asked myself.

It's there. I can, if I want to. I glared at the offending appendage. I could move my fingers. I could learn to have two arms again. It shouldn't be that hard, right?

Move, I thought. Move, stupid fingers. Move!

I was panting with the mental exertion, staring at the dead hand. This body had two arms. I had two arms, now. I could move my fingers, if I wanted, and I do want to, so they would move. Simple as that.

_MOVE!_

My index finger twitched.

I grinned.

Okay. So plan A is find a way back home. But if, in the likely event that plan A fails, plan B is to try and fit in here. I rolled onto my stomach, shoving my bad arm out of the way, pondering that thought. Is that a plausible goal? Could I fit in here?

Can this become home?

Resolve stilled my fluttering heart. I would make this place home, if I had to, because I wouldn't have a choice otherwise. And if I was anything, it was adaptive. Not to say I didn't have my fair share of issues. Mental trauma like mine isn't healed overnight. But I could try, I think. I could try to start over.

Clean slate. Huh.

The familiar guilt I carried from the very first moment I knew what I was pressed down on me for a moment. I pushed it away, taking a deep breath.

Well. No decisions right now, especially since I'm pretty sure Jean put some knock-out drugs in my saline solution. (Jerk.) But it was something to consider, so consider it I would.

I dropped off into the first dreamless sleep I'd had in half a decade.

* * *

**A/N: **Hiya! I hope everyone had a good weekend! I figured a second chapter would be nice, and since a kind reviewer pointed something important out to me, I've decided to take the story in a slightly different direction. Less moping, coming up! (Of course, Loki still has issues. But, as he said, clean slate, so he'll hopefully start to work through some of those issues and get back to his normal, snarky self.)

This story is set just slightly before the first X-Men movie. Within the next chapter or two, I hope to bring in the plot. Huzzah, plot! And once plot starts, chapters might get a bit longer. I personally prefer long chapters, but sometimes it doesn't work out that way. Ah well. ^^

As always, if you have any comments, please feel free to leave a review! I welcome and enjoy feedback, and I'm willing to make changes to work with any ideas I find too good to resist! So leave a review if you please. Until next time, peace!


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